


sailin' away on the crest of the wave

by Kt_fairy



Series: sailin' away [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Disco, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Roger is a soft sappy boy, Sappy Ending, totp sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: Roger wasn't a man to steal another man's girl. He could find an available women easily enough. Yet, as this bloke went on about bass players - a sore point as Queen had been flailing around trying to find one for months - he couldn't help his eyes flicking to her through the gloom.She was tall and brunette, which he liked. Strong features which he didn't mind, and dressed kind of masculine which had always been a look he liked on women.Then he had realised the girl was the bassist Nigel kept going on about. And then he realised that she was a bloke.





	sailin' away on the crest of the wave

**Author's Note:**

> So. This isn't a 'the brighter sun and the easier lays' fic. Because I've written myself into the 80's, which is cool, but 70's Queen owns my entire ass so here we GO.
> 
> (realistic time line? no thank's we vague like tired binches)
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT: I have a writing blog now. Hit me up[Here](https://pianowrites.tumblr.com/) if you want **

 

 

“Nah love. Sorry. I’m looking for my mate.”

 

“Oh come on, pet. Just one dance!”

 

“I really can’t. Keep an eye out for me next time, yeah. I’ll owe you a dance.”

 

“You promise?” The girl said, batting her big brown eyes as she bit her soft pink lips.

 

“Cross my heart!” Roger lied, giving her a quick kiss on the lips before heading off around the dance floor.

 

 The bright shifting lights didn’t help him in his search, nor did the packed room all moving along to the beat of Marc Bolan’s screeching.

 

 They had a long drive tomorrow (technically it was today now) from Newcastle to Glasgow and were supposed to be getting an early-ish night. The clock in the hotel room had kept Roger awake as it ticked closer and closer to two am, finally driving him to get re-dressed and go out to find his missing roommate.

 

 He patted himself down, pulling out his cigarettes as he tried to think of where John might possibly be in this, actually quite nice, night club.

 

 It was certainly nicer than the disco he had first met him in. If you could have even called it a disco. It had been a dance in one of Imperial College’s Student Union bar’s, the tables all to the side of the room to make a dance floor and the lights turned down low to make it a little more atmospheric.

 

 Brian had been holding up the bar talking to one of his PhD mates about...PhD’s. Roger wasn’t an idiot but what they were talking about was little too north of the atmosphere for him.

 

 He’d just been about to go and see if there was anyone he knew, or would like to know, on the cramped dance floor when a bloke he vaguely knew from the student music scene came up to him with a bird in tow.

 

 The guy - Nigel - was friendly enough. Good chatty. Roger had a full drink and nothing better to do, so had settled onto his barstool to talk shop and bitch about venues.

 

 Now, Roger wasn't a man to steal another man's girl. He could find an available women easily enough. Yet, as Nigel went on about bass players - a sore point as Queen had been flailing around trying to find one for months - he couldn't help his eyes flicking to her through the gloom.

 

 She was tall and brunette, which he liked. Strong features which he didn't mind, and dressed kind of masculine which had always been a look he liked on women.

 

 Then he had realised the bird was the bassist Nigel kept going on about. And then he realised that she was a bloke.

 

 Who was now Queen’s permanent, and much treasured, bassist.

 

 A sneaky, devious bassist who hated crowds but could hide in them with great ease when Roger was trying to find him. He handed his half smoked cigarette to a girl who had been making eyes at him and began making his way through the sea of bodies.

 

 Roger had known John for about two years at this point, and over that time had pulled him out of what felt like about thirty disco’s. So he had a good idea where he would be. Somewhere near enough to the edge that he could head to the bar if he needed to, but far enough in that he could feel the beat from the speakers.

 

 He finally spotted John through the press of people in almost the exact place he had thought he could be. Roger would have congratulated himself on his detective skills, but he was a little surprised to see that John was dancing with a man (this was Newcastle after all), most of his attention falling to the hands cupping John’s narrow hips.

 

 He weaved his way through the swaying, bopping crowd with expert ease, only having to untangle himself from a couple of drunk girls while ducking away from a few “hey don't I know you from somewhere?” conversations.

 

 The man with John - tall, chin length sandy hair, probably a couple of years older than Roger and not bad looking - must have sensed that he was on a mission because he looked up when Roger got close. His eyes, an indistinguishable colour in this light, flicked over Roger before he bent to say something to John. He did something that made the man smile and say something else, and then John threw a glance over his shoulder, eyes widening when he spotted Roger.

 

“Hey!” Roger shouted over the music.

 

“What are you…”

 

“Its two in the morning, mate. I came to drag you away and into bed.”

 

 He knew exactly how that had sounded but chose to not draw attention to it as he watched John's dance partner slip off into the crowd.

 

“Oh,” John turned to say something to the guy, his shoulders dropping when he saw he was gone. There was a look of “oh well” on his face when he turned to Roger again, a shaft of blue light passing over them and catching the sweat at John's brow and at the base of his throat.

 

 Roger had never had a problem admitting he thought John was nice to look at. They were all pretty androgynous, were leaning into it heavily as a band aesthetic, but John… John had grey eyes that seemed so much older than his clear, youthful face, and a big beaming smile that said so much about the person he was. He was down to earth while being wholly otherworldly and had Roger’s attention from the first time he had set eyes on him.

 

“I'll get you a drink for coming to get me,” John leant in to be heard over the music, stepping closer when someone bumped in to him.

 

“Dance with me instead,” Roger found himself saying.

 

 John laughed. “What?”

 

“Dance with me,” Roger repeated, putting his hands on John's waist and then immediately worrying he'd overstepped some unknown boundary when John jerked back to look at him.

 

 Roger wasn't at his very best right now. He had been about to get into bed after a very good blow job when he'd decided to go and get John. That wouldn't usually matter as he knew how to use his natural good looks to get him what he wanted (or out of sticky situations), but John knew him too well for any of that to work.

 

 John worried his bottom lip, which was pink from kisses Roger realised a little sharply, before dipping his head and tilting his body closer to Roger's. “Usually go for taller partners.”

 

“Not my fault you wear those fucking great big shoes!” Roger protested even though he loved John's platforms and what they did for his long legs and loose hips.

 

 Hips that went into action as John started to lead Roger along to the music. It wasn't slow or romantic, nor did it change into a love song once they had got into the groove of things. The songs were fast and upbeat and they danced around, laughing and joking, just like they were alone backstage. Even if Roger had such a hold on John’s waist that he could feel the burning heat of him through the thin material of his shirt.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 The gig in Glasgow had gone well, despite John and Roger’s ill advised late night dance escapades the night before. The fact that it had been a success, and that the crowd were less rough than expected, saved them from Freddie’s disapproval and Brian’s disappointment. Two forces so powerful Roger was surprised no-one had tried to weaponize them.

 

 They were in Bournemouth now, some indeterminate amount of _van - service station - hotel- gig_ later. It almost felt like a home gig for Roger, being as close as they were to Cornwall, and he suspected his enthusiasm was what had pushed the band into quite a successful sound check. Even if he did say so himself.

 

 Roger had emerged from behind his kit and descended from the stage to join the discussion Freddie and John - Roadie John - were having about the lighting rig. Aesthetics are important for a band, and so was the audience’s ability to see them.

 

 He had slipped out of that conversation a little while ago now, his attention pulled to where John - Bassist John, Deaky - was sat on the edge of the stage. He had his legs neatly crossed, the heel of one of his platforms tapping very gently against the side of the stage as he chatted to one of the venue tech’s. Roger remembered him from when they'd arrived; dark curly hair above a young, friendly face and had taken all of Brian's fiddling in good humour. He was stood at the foot of the stage, nervously fingering the reel of wire hooked over a broad shoulder as he looked up at John.

 

 They weren’t talking about anything technical. John always waved his hands around when he talked about circuit boards or engine manifolds or music. Now he had them linked together in his lap as he leant forward to hear what was being said to him, the hair he’d pushed over his shoulder slipping forward again until he straightened with a shy smile on his face.

 

 Roger watched him say something at his knees, shifting a little nervously and shrugging at whatever the tech said. John’s mouth quirked as he made a joke, turning into a grin when it made the tech laugh.

 

 The bashfulness wasn’t an act. John hated being shy far too much to ever use it to flirt, but it was working on this guy. Roger knew that without even being able to see his face because John being _John_ worked far too well on him.

 

 He looked away and up into the stage lights when Freddie pointed, putting his hands on his hips as he pretended he had been listening. “No. Yeah. Yeah. I see what you mean,” he muttered when Freddie gave him an expectant look.

 

“It's only one night I know, but if they can redirect that beam then…” Freddie went on, Roger losing track as his eyes darted back to John who was listening intently to what the tech was saying.

 

 He didn't have a monopoly on John's attention, nor was he jealous of it. In fact Roger was glad John was meeting new people. This sort of rapt attention was something Roger was used to having turned on him, was all.

  

 Roger liked having John’s full attention; be it on the bus or in the corner of a party or when John looked to him for cue’s during gigs. Or sat on the edge of Roger's bass drum talking about Britain's Next Great Hope for motor racing (John had said he thought James Hunt was handsome and Roger had made it clear he was also blonde with blue eyes). He liked how direct John’s gaze suddenly became, he liked how animated his face got and how he’d sometimes trip over his words when he had so many things to say.

 

 The tech dropped the cable from his shoulder and handed it up to John, their finger’s clearly brushing. Roger watched John straighten, talking with confidence about whatever he was explaining, and then watched the tech move to lean next to him on the edge of the stage. He was clearly engrossed in John, and if Roger paid as much rapt attention to him as this bloke was then half the country must know how skittish his heart sometimes got around him.

 

 Roger cleared his throat, nodded to Freddie and Roadie John, and went to go and find his cigarettes.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger was sweaty, muscles aching from use, and dying for a cigarette. Which was how he spent most of his evenings whether they had been spent on stage or in bed.

 

 It wasn’t a bad gig. The sound had gone a little funny half way through but Freddie had the crowd whipped into such a frenzy that none of them seemed to care or notice. Which was good.

 

 He’d been fresh out of the shower (sweaty overheated drummers always got dibs) and was lounging in his dressing gown and underwear, chatting with Freddie and Brian who were dithering getting changed, when there had been a knock on the door.

 

 Their roadies never knocked, apparently they were too nice to garner that much respect, and Roger hurried to make sure he wasn’t about to flash anyone important as Freddie trilled, “Come in.”

 

 It was the tech from earlier. He had changed into a nicer t-shirt that showed off his broad upper body well, Roger thought bitterly, and looked incredibly nervous until John said, “Oh George! One moment.”

 

 That had immediately got this _George_ three sets of judgemental stares that, to his credit, he was wise enough to not try and talk through. In fact he withstood their heavy gaze quite well as he waited patiently in the doorway, hand hovering a respectful distance from John's lower back when he ushered him away.

 

 John was twenty-two and no fool. He'd been old enough to legally consent to any 'gay stuff' for over a year now (a bullshit law but it was better than the whole thing being illegal Roger supposed) but this was still _Deaky_. Their Deaky. Their sweet, fierce, smart, friend who sometimes seemed so much younger than he was, and habits were hard to break.

 

 But this guy had seemed nice, and a little awestruck too after he had seen them perform. Which, Roger thought smugly, was only right.

 

“So. Deaky’s on a date,” Roger finally said after he had stewed on the situation for the whole time Brian had been in the shower.

 

“He is,” Freddie said, dumping a tissue into the bin as he turned to Roger. “He’s probably going to suck him off and get an awkward hand job in return.”

 

 Roger balked, almost dropping his beer. ”What!”

 

“He talks to me. About a lot of things.” Freddie took a sip of his wine. “You didn't think he was a virgin did you?”

 

“No! I didn't...I didn't think anything about anything.”

 

“Be a bit weird if you were thinking about it.”

 

“Shut up Brian!”

 

“I'm only saying…”

 

“I think our Roger is on the brink of a revelation,” Freddie said in a stage whisper to Brian who smirked.

 

“I'm what! What revelation about what?”

 

“It's going to be so satisfying when the penny finally drops,” Brian murmured, sharing a look with Freddie.

 

“If you're talking about the fact I think Deaky is attractive then yeah. I know,” Roger muttered. “I have eyes! And you keep on dressing him up in tight silky things.”

 

“He wears them of his own accord, I simply give him the options,” Freddie sniffed, turning back to removing his make-up.

 

“The tight shirts are bad enough, but he's so pretty! And I know his hair is soft because I've held it back when he's been sick…”

 

“That's almost Shakespearean Roger!” Brian teased, and Roger ignored him.

 

“...and he's so sweet! And so clever. And so nasty when he wants to be. I just…”

 

 He thought of John’s confidence in himself when it had come to his degree; the way he breezed through presentations and coursework and his final exams without a worry. Of John's shy delight when he had got the results from his final exams. A first class degree was amazing, but with _honours_ too! Roger had wanted to parade his friend through the streets he had been so proud of him! And then the thought of all the times John had been so nervous before a gig he’d be throwing up backstage with Roger trying desperately to soothe him.

 

 He remembered them all sat around in Freddie and Roger's old flat, watching the TV that John had fiddled with until the picture was, Roger admitted, much better than before. _Steptoe and Son_ had been on and John, leaning back on the sofa with his knees pulled up to his chest, had found it riotously funny. It had been the first time he had loosened up around them enough to laugh like that, and Freddie had not been the only one to be utterly charmed by it.

 

“I just…” Roger started again, and then fell silent, flicking his unlit cigarette between his fingers.

 

“Tell him how you feel...” Brian said gently.

 

“ _Feel_.”

 

“Roger for…tell him you think he has a nice arse and stop moping whenever someone asks him out.”

 

“I don't mope,” Roger muttered.

 

“Then fuck him out of your system before you do something stupid,” Brian said a little less kindly. “Because this is going to get very old very soon.”

 

“Boys…” Freddie warned.

 

“I don't want to just fuck him,” Roger said, twisting to let his arms hang over the back of the sofa so he could see Brian. “Because I know I'd want to keep doing it and...and then what if I want to stop and he gets hurt and, god - if Freddie doesn't kill me for doing that then I'll throw myself off a bridge. He's my best friend! It's not this simple, Bri.”

 

“You don't usually overthink relationships like this.”

 

“Don't...I want your help, don't turn this on me!”

 

“ _Boys._ ”

 

“I’m not! I’m saying you're making this so complicated because you obviously have feelings, Roger. Be they romantic or platonic or somewhere in between. He won't run screaming from the room if you tell him.”

 

“No, I don't think he would,” Freddie said and Roger had a horrible, horrible feeling that John was stood in the doorway. He didn't turn to look, but Brian did glance that way and the look on his face spoke volumes.

 

“There was a problem with the stage monitors, so George had to go sort it out,” John explained, unreadable eyes flicking to everyone in the room that was starting to feel very hot. But that might have just been Roger.

 

“Oh I am sorry, dear. Will he be coming back to finish your date?”

 

 John shrugged, moving a pace further into the room but not letting the door close behind him. “I went and took a look at it. It looks like we might have blown the wiring with what was being put through it,” he shot a glance at Brian who looked very proud of himself. “I think he's going to be there for a while.”

 

“You didn't try and help? You do like a fiddle,” Brian somehow asked without making it sound dirty.

 

“Manager wouldn't let me. Didn't want to be held responsible if I electrocuted myself.”

 

“As if you would,” Roger scoffed, and then hid behind a swig of his beer when a tiny smile pulled at John's lips, Brian's eye roll almost audible in the background.

 

“So, we can go to the bar if we want,” John offered to the room, but his eyes were on Roger who was frozen in place.

 

“We'll be right out darling, you go ahead,” Freddie said softly, eyes tracking John leave the room before flicking to Roger. He couldn't see that of course, staring after John like he was, but he knew Freddie well enough to feel it.

 

 He sat with his heart racing until a sigh from Brian started him into action. He almost fell off, then over the couch, beer going everywhere - much to Freddie and Brian's horror - as he ran to catch up with John.

 

 The venue turned into a bit of a club after the live bands had finished. A disk jockey was playing the hits and the bar along the side wall had fully opened now no-one was on stage to throw bottles at. Roger had to lean on the sticky counter top to shout his order at the barman, squinting through the darkness at the optic’s to try and see what spirits were on offer before giving up and just agreeing with what he was being offered.

 

 He let his weight drop heavily onto the bar stool, resting his elbow against the edge of the bar as he turned so his legs bracketed John’s knees. If you didn’t know him you might think he was being aloof, sat bolt upright with his legs crossed, his face still and calm. But John had been absentmindedly spinning a beer mat around on the bar since they had sat down, and Roger was relieved to see he wasn't the only one who was a bit nervous.

 

 Roger stopped his leg jiggling to the beat of the music, touching the little flowers on the cuffs of John’s shirt to get his attention. “How much of that did you hear?”

 

 John gave him a sheepish smile, leaving the beer mat alone to rest both of his hands in his lap. “Enough that you probably don't have to spill your heart out now.”

 

“I still think I should,” Roger muttered. “Feels a bit impersonal that you heard it like that instead of hearing it from me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Not that I know what to say,” Roger admitted, grinning when it made John smile. He shifted on his stool so he was closer to Roger, his knee bumping the inside of Roger’s leg as he pushed his hair behind his ear. It was all so John could hear him better over the music, Roger knew that, but it still made his heart race. “I like you a lot. You’re one of my best friends, and a fantastic bassist - not that that’s got anything to do with anything. I like you. And...I’m starting to get jealous when you talk to men. And I _know_ it’s jealousy, I’m not...I’ve never been a gay basher or been bothered by it. I even…” Roger snapped his jaw shut as their drinks were pushed across the bar to them.

 

 John dug around in his pockets as Roger paid for them, pressing some money into Roger's hand. Usually he would refuse the money, but John’s date might come back at any second. Roger Taylor did not steal other people’s birds, or blokes, and especially not from under their noses.

 

 They cheersed, and Roger found that he was now the one fidgeting nervously as he spun his glass around on the bar. “I’ve even kissed a couple of men. To see what it was like. It’s just kissing. Anyway - ummm, so. Yes,” he grimaced and took an ill advised gulp of whiskey that burnt on the way down. “I am jealous when men talk to you because I want to be the one talking to you. I think I might fancy you and I want you to know that.”

 

“Why do you look so unhappy about it?” John sounded defensive, which surprised Roger into looking up from gazing forlornly into his drink. “A man might think you don't like fancying him.”

 

“Its...well. You're not gonna like me back are you.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Pretty boys don't go for pretty boys.”

 

 John started. “You think I'm pretty?”

 

 “I think you're beautiful.” John seemed to be at a loss for words, which wasn't all that unusual for him. Roger reached out and gently pushed John's hair back so he wouldn't be able to hide behind it, being careful not to touch his skin. “That wasn't a move by the way. I just can't see in this light,” he joked, feeling very pleased with himself when John laughed and shifted closer.

 

“I'm very flattered someone half blind thinks I'm beautiful.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“I'm joking. I'm… I mean...”

 

“I mean it. You are. You really are. And not just how you look. Everything, the whole anxious, silly package….Look, what Brian was saying? I don't want to fuck you and be done with it. You're my friend and I don't...want it to be like that.”

 

 John nodded, sipping his drink. “Are you going to ask me out?”

 

“Bit impolite to jump in when you’re out with another guy.”

 

 John shrugged, leaning his chin on his hand as he nudged Rogers leg with the toe of his platform. “Got a better offer,” he said, and then burst out laughing. “I've been around Freddie too long, that was so smooth did you see that!?”

 

 Roger had to try really, really hard not to kiss him right then and there.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“You have no idea how badly I needed that piss. I feel about five pounds lighter now.”

 

 Freddie rolled his eyes from the passenger seat, slamming the door on Roger who was feeling too good to care. He stretched his arms above his head, twisting one way and then the other before jumping on the spot a couple of times to get the ache of driving out of his legs. He only had a couple more hours to go until they hit Southampton and then he could _sleep_. 

 

 “I’ll take the wheel for a bit,” Brian’s gentle voice said from Roger’s shoulder and he turned just in time to get a bag from the service station shoved into his hands and the key swiped from his pocket. “I could feel your tired buzz from the other side of the car park.”

 

“Thanks,” Roger said with full sincerity, digging around in the bag for the wine gums that he surrendered to Brian so he knew just how thankful he was.

 

 Brian took the sweets with the appropriate gravitas, and then two bottles of 7-Up, before heading around to the driver’s door.

 

 John peered blearily over the back seat when Roger slammed the side door shut behind him. He was sat with his back against the wall of the van, head resting on Roadie John’s jacket (who was up front navigating ‘with’ Freddie), socked feet up on the seat that he moved when Roger clambered over a guitar cases to sit next to him.

 

 “Though you were drivin’ ‘til S’thampon,” John muttered.

 

“Brian is an angel and a saint and took over for me.”

 

“So we don’t crash and die!” Brian called from the front as the van rumbled in to life.

 

“I like not dying,” John called back as he sat up and stretched. He looked rumpled and tired, and Roger just wanted curl into him and look tired and rumpled to. There wasn’t enough room for that though, so instead he scooted down the seat as much as he could so he could lay down, head resting on John’s thigh.

 

“Here you go,” John murmured as he laid the jacket over him, tickling Roger when he tucked it around his neck.

 

“Ger’off!”

 

 John laughed softly, smoothing his hand over Roger’s shoulder in apology as he settled back into the seat. Roger rubbed his cheek against the worn soft denim of John's jeans as he tried to get comfortable, the soft shifting of long fingers through the ends of his hair helping him to slip off to sleep.

 

 It wasn’t a deep sleep. He kept sliding in and out, vaguely aware of the conversation going on around him and John’s fingers still in his hair. He reached up at one point and took John’s hand, rolling his fingers against the cool metal of the ring on John’s middle finger whenever he slipped into wakefulness.

 

“Oh my goodness!” he heard Freddie stage whisper, cracking an eye open to see his face peering down at him from between the head rests. “We have the very picture of romance in our midst!”

 

 Roger flipped him off, trying to keep his smile down as laughter rang out around him.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 

 The BBC, in all their generosity, had given them a dressing room that was just about large enough for four fully grown men. Cramped was one word for it, stifling was another, especially with the mood John was currently in.

 

“Every time I looked up the sodding camera was right in my face. They'd’ve shoved it right down my fucking trousers if they'd ‘ad the chance.”

 

“We weren't in the proper studio last time, Deaky,” Brian said diplomatically. “They were just covering the whole band.”

 

“You were stuck around the corner and was ‘ardly filmed. And Roger stuck all the way up on that riser. _Top of the Pops_ is supposed to be professional and its…” John growled in frustration and bent to zip up his boots.

 

 Queen's first foray into TV had been to fill Bowie's slot on _Top of the Pops_. He had pulled out because of a double booking which just happened to coincide with a strike at the BBC, so Queen had mimed their way through _Seven Sea’s of Rhye_ in the dimly lit weather studio. It had been fine, Roger supposed. They'd been asked back to do the song again in the studio proper, so they must have made an impression.

 

 Roger's cymbals had been taped and his drums were plastic, so he had hated this performance before they had even started. Meanwhile John seemed to be furious at the whole of the BBC, coming off stage with such a thunder cloud over him that Mary and Chrissie had made themselves scarce.

 

 John fell into a grumpy silence so Freddie launched in to a run down of the good points of their performance and what could be used for the stage show. Singing the praises of what the exposure might do for their album sales. “Oh! We should be able to catch it tonight, yes? How about we watch it around mine?”

 

 “Me and Chris are in,” Brian said immediately, him and Freddie turning to Roger who looked at John.

 

“I'm not in the mood to watch myself stood at the front of the stage miming, sorry.” John made a very good effort of not sounding bitter for Freddie's benefit, but enough sourness made it into his voice for Freddie to look a little deflated. Looking even more disappointed when Roger shook his head.

 

 He felt terrible about it, he really did, so he got up from where he'd been perched by the only makeup mirror and started to zip up the bag with their stage costumes in. “I'll deal with these, you go on.”

 

“Oh, but…”

 

“You two did really well today, all I did was sit there. Go on.”

 

 Freddie and Brian got out of there at a speed that, frankly, was totally understandable with how dire the atmosphere in the dressing room had become.

 

“Hey Deaky, come to mine for dinner? I got a tin of spaghetti hoops with your name on it,” Roger said as he slung the bag over his shoulder. “I even have bread and I _promise_ you it's not gone green.”

 

 Not only was it not green, but Roger found some cheese in the door of his fridge as well. He sliced that up to put on the buttered toast before spooning over the hoops he'd heated on the stove with some added pepper and dried basil.

 

 Roger was a fucking cordon bleu chef, is what he was.

 

 He twirled out of the kitchen with a plate in each hand which made John laugh. “Dinner _and_ a show!”

 

“I'm a girl of many talents,” Roger proclaimed, presenting John his dinner with a flourish before turning so John could pluck a knife and fork from Roger's back pocket.

 

 Roger's little dining table acted mostly as a bookshelf and they discussed the teetering pile of well read sci-fi books as they ate. John ran his fingers down the broken spines, pushing a few of the rips back together so he could read the titles. His hands were gentle for their size; long fingers that contradicted the power of the bass lines he could thump out when he touched tiny, fiddly wires into place to fix the gutted insides of amps or record players.

 

 Roger realised he was staring when his last mouthful started to slide off his fork. He shoved it quickly into his mouth and then made a production of scraping up the last of the sauce up with the edge of his fork to try and hide what he’d been doing. “So, what d'you want to do? We can go down the pub, or see what’s going on at the nightclubs on a Thursday. Or I can give you a dramatic reading of my favourite book?”

 

“Is it the one with the redhead with big tits on the cover?”

 

“Nah,” Roger scoffed, letting his toes bump against John’s ankle. “It’s the one with the brunette with the pert arse.”

 

 John pursed his lips against a smile even as he blushed, the perfect shade of light pink dusting his cheekbones. Obviously. Nothing in the whole world was as awkwardly perfect as John.

 

 Pushing his plate out of the way Roger leant across the narrow table to press his lip’s to that delightful flush. That made John light up, his eyes disappearing into half moons as his smile look up his whole face. He raised his hand to cover it all too soon for Roger who had been delighted by his gap-toothed smile since day one, but he knew better than to pull John's hand away. Insecurities were delicate, deeply wired things - sometimes Roger would look in the mirror and still see the frog he’d been convinced he looked like before he had grown into his big blue eyes.

 

 He kissed him when John pulled his hand away to reveal a less beaming smile that was still just as lovely. John kissed him back lightly, touching Roger’s jaw when he opened his mouth for him.

 

 “You watch _Top of the Pops_ if you want,” John said quietly when Roger finally sat back down.

 

“It’s offended your honour so I don’t feel like I should.”

 

“I can tell that you want to watch it.”

 

“My point still stands.”

 

 John shook his head but Roger could tell his natural charm had got to him. “Watch it. Then you can pick it apart with Freddie tomorrow while me and Bri do actual work.”

 

“Aesthetics _are_ real work! The look of the band is as important as the music. Look at The Beatles with their cohesive look, it made them instantly recognisable. Bowie has made it into a bloody _artform_! You can’t tell me that his visual’s don’t do as much for his live act as his actual music does. _How we look is vital_ , especially now gig’s are getting recorded! Not that I think any of our’s ever will. But…” he swallowed, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table as he came over embarrassed.

 

“But?” John prompted.

 

“You don’t want to hear me ramble on about clothes and hair and all that. You’ve heard it a million times from Freddie.”

 

 John shrugged. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

 

“It’s all...I know you’re not really interested in fashion and stuff.”

 

“Excuse me,” John spluttered. “Look at my hair, and look at my shoes,” he pointed over to his platform boots set by the door. “And say that again. I let Freddie shove eyeliner in my eyes every other gig. I do care how I look, you know. I...sometimes I just don’t want people looking at me.”

 

“I know,” Roger said, wondering if he fell into ‘people’ or was now granted an exception.

 

 John shifted in his seat, dropping his gaze as he began rubbing at his smooth jawline. “I hated being stuck up front like that today. I was...uncomfortable with it. Girl’s come to see me after show’s because I’m quiet and nonthreatening, I know that. I’m fine with that. But to…” he sighed. “I hated it. I know it was obvious that I hated it and I’m worried that it’ll make us look bad.”

 

“It really wasn’t…”

 

“So I don’t mind if you want to watch it, I just don’t want to.”

 

 Roger knew a ‘ _please watch it so I can stop tying myself up in knots’_ when he heard one, so relented.

 

 Their excellent energy had been all Freddie doing his very best while the three of them looked...not _unenthusiastic,_ as such, but not all that enthusiastic either. With how small the stage had been and how close the crowd were to it, it probably wasn't a bad thing that they hadn’t gone all out. Especially as their all black, glam look was a little at odds with the bright set and the kids in their street clothes bopping around.

 

 The song was solid and they looked pretty good despite everything. The camera loved John, but he did look like a Pre-Raphaelite painters wet dream so that was no surprise.

 

 All in all it had been okay. Could have been worse. Beggars can't be choosers, and they were very nearly beggars.

 

 Roger switched the TV off and skidded into his bedroom to deliver his verdict to John. He was sat against the headboard with Ziggy sprawled out in his lap, purring contentedly as she basked in the absent-minded scratches she was getting.

 

 She looked up when Roger climbed onto the bed, sitting up to bump her head against his hand when he shuffled up the bed to sit in front of John.

 

“How was it?”

 

“You had the most bloody screen time!” Roger protested. “All you see is my bloody hair! The camera actually went off of Freddie and on to you. Twice!”

 

“Was it okay?” John asked, shifting when Roger plucked a disgruntled Ziggy from his lap.

 

“As okay as miming to a bunch of bored teenagers can ever be. Yeah. We were solid. Very solid. More energetic than you usually see on ye olde TOTP.” He moved so he was kneeling next to John. “You don't need to worry. Your discomfort came across as beautifully stoic and all the girls are off to get your posters as we speak.”

 

“So that’s going to be my ‘aesthetic’ now, discomfort masquerading as 'beautifully stoic'?”

 

“Go on, take the piss.”

 

“I’m not,” John said softly. “Me taking the piss would be asking where you’re going to stick my posters up.”

 

“You joke, but I have piles of magazines under this bed for a collage wall I’m going to make of your face.”

 

 John tilted his head just so, turning his body into Roger’s. “Are you sure that's what you're using them for?”

 

“Why would I wank over press shoots when I’ve seen you in your knickers? In person!”

 

“You’re terrible,” John said, and pressed a kiss to Roger’s chin.

 

 Roger smiled, thumb stroking the soft skin just under John’s ear as he trailed his lips up to Roger’s mouth. He held onto John’s narrow waist when he pressed against him, his fingers moving to tangle in Roger’s hair as they kissed slowly. They hadn’t fucked yet. It was some mutual, unspoken agreement to not run headlong into this for the sake of the band or some shit. Roger didn’t mind. He had jumped feet first into so many relationships it was nice to take his time having a kiss and a bit of a grope.

 

 Roger smoothed his hand down John’s side to his hip as he pushed John to lay flat on the mattress, ignoring the heavy thump of Ziggy leaving the bed in exasperation. He pressed the heel of his hand against the sharp line of John’s hip bone as he watched him get his hair out from under his shoulders, letting it lay over the pillows as he got comfortable.

 

 _Yeah_ , Roger thought to himself as he moved to half cover John and kiss his lips that were just as pink as his cheeks, _he looked like a dream_.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 They’d danced at that club in Newcastle, and a few more since then, all without getting little more than a double take from the other people there. Roger had not really expected more of a reaction, they ran in pretty accepting circles mostly so he was used to people looking the other way or not making a big deal out of things. John never seemed to be nervous about trouble either, so why should he?

 

 “You two were dancing up a storm,” Brian had said one evening after the late, late night before.

 

 “John likes to shake his arse and I,” Roger had tipped his head back so he could just see the top of John and Freddie’s head. “Happen to like his arse.” He hadn't been able to see their faces but he had grinned around his cigarette when they’d both turned to look at him. He stretched out, cracking his back before bringing his attention back to Brian along with a cloud of smoke.

 

 There was a pinch of concern on Brian’s fine boned, aristocratic face as he coughed and waved the smoke away from his face. “Just be careful, okay?”

 

“Of what?”

 

“ _Of what_?” Brian had mimicked back. “People who have a problem with you liking Deaky’s... _arse_.”

  

 The disco they were at now, a big place just off Leicester Square, had felt as safe as any of the others they had been in. Roger had sipped his drink while having long conversations with strangers and friends and flirty girls, all in between getting dragged onto the dance floor by John.

 

 It wasn’t all that late when he felt the atmosphere change. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but then he noticed the looks they were getting from some Bay City Rollers’ looking blokes at the bar. Roger’s first instinct was to start dancing with the nearest girl, maybe grab Chrissie as she was always game. Then they had caught sight of Roger glancing over at them and Roger felt his heart kick with panic.

 

 He turned his attention back to John just as something was yelled over the music that sounded a lot like a very unflattering term he wouldn’t care to repeat. The people around them obviously heard it as they started to look around, and that was when Roger alet John go and stepped back.

 

“What?” John grinned as he took a slow sip of his drink. The glow of sweat on his flushed skin would usually completely distract Roger but, well...

 

“There’s guys at the bar looking at us.”

 

 John, noticeably taller than Roger in platforms, glanced over the heads of the crowd towards the bar. He stiffened, dropping the glass from his mouth as his gaze flicked away sharply, head turning back to Roger so fast it looked like he’d been slapped. “We should probably leave.”

 

 It was the flatness of his voice and the way he was slouching as if trying to hide that had Roger swinging into action. He had no idea where his panic had gone but now it was indignant anger. He was about to march over there and tell them to piss off, but John grabbed his wrist and dragged him across the room, down the stairs, out of the front door. He didn’t let Roger go until they had crossed the road and rounded the corner so they were out of sight, and that was only to hail a taxi.

 

 They piled into the back of the black cab, John giving the cabbie his address while Roger sat quietly, just looking at him. He didn’t seem upset or afraid or shaken, or any of the things Roger was on the brink of being overwhelmed by. He just looked tired.

 

 The sickly orange light of the street lamps swirled through the interior of the cab as it wound its way through Saturday night traffic. John rested his elbows on his crossed knees, leaning forward so he looked smaller than he was, face turned towards the window as he made bland, nothing conversation with the cabbie about _Coronation Street_ , of all things.

 

 Roger hadn’t expected him to spill all his emotions, John wasn’t that kind of person. But Roger was full of things he had never felt before and worries that were so sharp he almost curled in on himself. He stared at John for a while, finally reaching out to touch his fingers to the back of John's hand to grab his attention away from the familiar sights of Piccadilly.

 

 The cabbie had fallen silent a few streets ago. Roger didn’t particularly care whether he had sensed the unease coming from the back of his Taxi or not. All he knew was that when John turned to him with a tight, but honest, smile, he couldn’t keep his sharpest worry between his teeth any longer. “Have you been hassled before?”

 

 John sighed, unfolding his body so he could lean his head on the headrest, tucking his feet under his seat. “I've had poof and queer yelled at me before. Jeering. Nothing bad,” he glanced at Roger and must have seen something in his eyes because he turned his hand palm up to grasp on to Roger’s. “Nothing really bad has ever happened to me.”

 

 Roger sighed in relief, his great swell of emotion receding somewhat and noticed the drivers eyes darting between them in the rear view mirror. “We're in a glam rock band, mate. Comes with the territory.”

 

 They both piled out of the cab at John’s flat, Roger insisting on pooling their change to pay the fair. “I'll walk back to mine,” Roger explained as the cab drove off. “It's not a bad night.”

 

“No. Come in.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to get an invite,” Roger explained as he followed John up the stairs of the converted house.

 

“I know,” John threw over his shoulder as he jiggled the key in the lock to get the door open.

 

 They had shared a bed before on tour. Four to a twin room in a Bed and Breakfast in Leeds or somewhere just as grim. So it was no big deal to share John’s bed now. They had kissed in bed too. John's bed, and Roger’s bed, and once - at a party at a friend of Freddie’s flat - in a stranger’s bed. So sharing some kisses before sleeping was also no big deal.

 

 He had seen John in a state of undress before, had spent hours being photographed in their knickers once for christ's sake, so seeing him pull on some green checked pyjama bottoms should also not be a big deal. But it was, it was all a _very big deal_.

 

 There was a marked difference between John plodding around half naked in a dingy backstage dressing room or a photographers studio, and him in the soft light of the street lamp that was coming in through the net curtains to gently touch his skin.

 

  It was flawlessly smooth and pale from his head to his toes and Roger couldn't bare not touching it.

 

“Are you…” Roger said as he finished folding his trousers only to dump them unceremoniously on the floor. “Is this an invitation to shag or are we really just sharing a bed?"

 

 John snorted as he shook out the old t-shirt he was about to slip over his head. “Are you feeling randy?”

 

“You're half naked,” Roger said matter of factly. “Of course I am. But I can control myself.”

 

“I’d have skipped the pyjama bit if it was - oh,” John let Roger pull the t-shirt from his hands, swallowing hard when he met his eyes.

 

 Roger laid his finger’s against the ball of John's shoulder, watching the slow progress they made along the line of his collarbone. Roger wanted to dart forward and kiss him there but held back, meeting John’s eyes again when a tremble went through him as Roger traced the dip at the base of his throat.  Roger felt his breath catch, watching John's lashes fluttering as he stroked down John's sternum to touch his fingers to every one of his ribs.

 

 John swallowed hard again when Roger’s hand smoothed over the slight softness of his waist to touch his hip before Roger let it fall back to his side. He stared hard at John’s mouth, at his lips that even when still seemed to be on the brink of saying something, thinking hard about how nice they were to kiss.

 

 With not quite a jolt he rocked back on his heels, eyes darting meet John’s delicate, heated gaze. He looked like he wanted Roger to do a lot more than kiss him, and if Roger wasn’t still feeling jittery in his skin he would have jumped at the chance. “Can we - If I kiss you I won’t stop and I only...I just want to hold you,” Roger took a deep breath, chewing on his bottom lip. “If that’s okay.”

 

 There was a frown of concern on John’s face when he closed the distance between them, fingertips smoothing over Roger’s sideburns when he cupped his face in his hands. “I’m sorry that happened tonight, Roge.”

 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Roger said, wrapping his hand around John’s wrist. “You stopped me getting my head kicked in.”

 

“You’d have been able to take them,” John said with more confidence than Roger felt. “It’s...what’s worse is when no-one steps in to help. They may not shout and throw stuff at you, but people don’t always help if you’re getting picked on for liking boys. I didn’t want you in the middle of that.”

 

 Roger pressed his thumb into John’s pulse point, committing the steady beat to memory. “I’m standing between you and anyone trying anything.”

 

“I can look after myself.”

 

“Yeah, I know. But you don’t have to do it on your own. We’re a band, you know. We’re family. We’d all do stupid things for one another,” he pulled John’s hands from his face so he could hold them tightly in his own. “I will do stupid things for you. I love you.”

 

“I love you.” John smiled at him softly, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his cheek that made Roger feel warm all over. He must have had a silly look on his face because John laughed when he stepped back, Roger following him all the way into the bed.

 

 They usually found a way to fit around one another when they shared a bed, but tonight Roger burrowed into John’s side. He found a spot on John’s chest where he could hear his heartbeat, searching out the comfort of a perfectly regular tempo to calm the trickle of adrenaline in his veins so he could slowly, and not all that peacefully, fall asleep.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Soho at night was not an unknown entity to any of them. They’d played there, and partied there, and had recorded their first album in the same building where a very nice (and expensive) prostitute lived who would come around for tea and a chat when she was between clients.

 

 The crowd would be lively and beautiful and dressed to the nines, expecting the band to look as good as they sounded. If everyone on stage didn’t look to be off to an orgy after the gig then the crowd would be most let down because sex - seediness made glamorous - was Soho at night.

 

 Roger looked at himself in the mirror, turning his face this way and that as he checked his hair. And maybe also admiring how good he looked. A little bit of vanity was important in a rock star, he thought as he rubbed his lips together to make them look more pink and soft.

 

 He was a right tart sometimes, but you had to make the most of your youth and beauty before gravity and grey hairs set in. Roger could remember when he and John would walk together from the N97 bus stop to the studio at one in the morning, dodging drunks and curb crawlers who thought they were rent boys. He had, after pulling John away and telling them to piss off, been strangely flattered by it.

 

 Roger turned his head this way and that, widening his eyes and then letting them fall half lidded. He tipped his head back, cocked it to the side to show off his long, tanned, neck, before slouching on his stool with a huff.

 

 He tapped his fingers on the make-up table as his legs started to jiggle, letting his eyes drift around the mirror to look around the room behind him. Brian was blowing on his freshly painted nails, his guitar set safely in his lap, and Crystal was sat on the floor filling up Roger’s drum stick holders with - well - drumsticks. John was sat at the other mirror, turned so he could tip his head up towards Freddie who was running a kohl pencil along the inside of his upper lashes with careful confidence.

 

 Freddie straightened with a ta-dah flourish of hands, smiling at John when he blinked at himself in the mirror and proclaimed it an excellent job. Freddie always did an excellent job, but he looked pleased nonetheless which made Roger smile.

 

 John didn’t spend too long looking at himself in the mirror, clearing out of the way for Freddie but perching on the edge of the table so they could carry on talking. That was just like him, Roger mused as he stood, acting like looking beautiful was nothing to him when in fact he would pitch as big a fit as any of them if he thought he looked bad.

 

“I love it when Freddie does your eyes like this,” Roger murmured as he crowded forward between John’s knees. “It shows them off really well.”

 

 He pulled a face at himself for how stupid that sounded, Freddie rolling his eyes at him in the mirror to prove his point. That embarrassment faded to nothing when he saw that John looked delightfully flattered by his blunt, heavy compliment. He sat up straighter, eyes twinkling when he twisted to take another look at himself in the mirror.

 

 “Darling, I keep telling you you’re divine,” Freddie chastised. “You’d believe him over me? He’s biased as shit.”

 

 John turned his soft smile on Freddie. “You’re not?”

 

“Of course. But I’m not trying to shag you.”

 

 That startled such a raucous laugh out of John that he didn’t think to hide his gap-toothed smile for a whole five seconds. He leant back when he finally did bring a hand to his face, turning to Roger when he reached out to stop John toppling off the edge of the table. John dropped his hands to his lap, looking so pleased and warm as he smiled up at Roger like he was far more than just big blue eyes and a pretty face.

 

 “Wanna go get fish and chips after the gig?” he offered, deciding to stay on the clumsy track that seemed to always charm John. Roger liked John looking charmed by him.

 

“Yeah. My treat,” John said, stretching his legs out on either side of Roger before dropping them to swing gently.

 

“I'll split…”

 

“No no no,” John pressed the back of his hand to Roger’s bare stomach, “You always buy drinks so...it's only fair. Right?”

 

 It took a moment for Roger to answer because all he could think about was John trailing his hands down his stomach and into Roger’s underwear. He swallowed as the heated memory hit him full force: John straddling his thighs as he jerked him off, kissing down Roger’s chest slowly, taking his time after all their rushed, desperate fumbling.

 

 Roger shuffled back to put some space between John and his dick that had no room in his trousers to do anything that he didn’t want advertised to the whole room.

 

 “Yeah. Okay. I’ll get a battered sausage if you’re paying.”

 

“Oh god!” Crystal cried as Brian snorted gracelessly. “Is that what you call Deaky’s dick when you’ve forgotten it’s not a drumstick?”

 

 The room exploded into noise. Freddie started cackling when John yelled at Crystal not to talk about his dick, someone was shrieking, furniture clattering to the floor as Roger chased Crystal from the room with a can of hairspray. All the while Brian was trying to protect his guitar and stop the chaos while hiccuping on his own laughter.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“I'll see you at...” _mreow._ “Yes Ziggy. Roger I'll see you at practice...” _mrreow_. “ Tomorrow afternoon.”

 

 John tried to take a step towards the door and had to go onto his tiptoes so he didn't tread on Ziggy as she weaved between his legs. She meowed loudly again, circling his feet before rubbing her head against his leg.

 

 Roger smiled when John bent to scratch along her back, Ziggy arching into it in delight. She circled back to John when her ran his hand up her tail and tried to bump her head against his chin so he scooped her up into his arms. “Someone's being extra loving today, aren't we madam?” John said softly, Rogers heart swelling when Ziggy purred in reply, rubbing her face all over his neck.

 

 “I think…” Roger started, moving over to scratch her under chin. “I think Ziggy wants you to move in to my cozy, damp and sometimes gloomy in the winter, little basement flat.”

  

 “Oh I see,” John smiled down at Ziggy who had got into one of those weird cat positions and was staring at Roger. “Well, if _Ziggy_ wants me to how can I refuse?”

 

 Roger wrapped his hand around the back of John’s neck to drag him into a kiss. They were careful not to crush Ziggy who, as her work was done, wiggled around until John dropped her. Roger wasted no time pressing himself up against John’s front, slipping his arms around his skinny little waist so he could run his hands from his shoulders to the swell of his arse and back up again.

 

“I still have to leave.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I’ve paid for the month at my place so I’ll move in two weeks.”

 

“We can use the band van. And make Freddie help. That way,” Roger explained, slipping his fingers up the back of John’s t-shirt. “He’ll bring us shit from Biba and throw a party.”

 

“You’re a genius!”

 

“We can hang your honours degree on the wall next to my humble Bsc. Then this flat will have two genius’ in it!”

 

 Roger eventually let John go after holding him to ransom for a dozen kisses. He only just stopped himself from standing at the door and waving him off like some starlet, even though his fit to burst heart really wanted him to.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“Poof!”

 

 Roger somehow managed to hear that over the thundering noise going on around him. He leapt to his feet to peer at the crowd through his cymbals and the bright lights, but it was the same dark mass it always was.

 

 The music didn't falter for a moment. The beat didn't slip (take a lot more than heckling to put Roger off) and the guitars were still going strong. Freddie was singing his heart out, but there was a slight hesitation to his usual strut across the stage.

 

 Roger let out a furious yell and dropped back onto his seat to work his floor drums, wishing he could hurl his sticks into the crowd.

 

“Bunch of poofters!”

 

Roger was about to round his kit and make a scene when Freddie sauntered up the edge of the stage. He leant forward, placing his hand on his popped hip, and the crowd laughed at whatever he was doing with his face. “Nice of you to notice, dear,” Freddie purred into the mic. “You're always welcome to join us backstage for a little _afterparty_.”

 

 Satisfied with the crowds delight Freddie went back to singing, laughter in his voice when John did his skippy run up onto the riser and popped his foot as he played coyly at Roger. Amusement went through the crowd, swelling when Brian did a little wiggle of his bum while playing.

 

 Roger locked eyes with John and they fell into perfect sync as Big Spender rocketed to an end. He jumped up again for the final cymbal crash, blowing John a kiss just before the lights went out.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“Wait, wait, wait. Wait.”

 

 John sat back on his heels and looked up at Roger, hands moving from Roger's fly to rest on his thighs. “What?” he asked, all big grey eyes and sweet voiced like he wasn’t about to suck Roger’s dick.

 

“You really...girls don’t always like doing it so if you’re just…”

 

“Did you used to show this much concern for the girls you picked up after gigs?” John pointed out. There was no judgement or bitterness in his voice but Roger still swallowed down a little swell of guilt. John kissed the slip of skin above Roger’s waistband, smoothing a hand down his thigh. “Sorry. I wasn’t having a go…”

 

“I know. It’s fine.”

 

“I don’t mind it, Roge,” he said, brushing his lips over Roger’s stomach. “I want to do it for you.”

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Roger groaned, leaning his weight back against the door. “How am I supposed to say no to that.”

 

“That a yes?”

 

“You know it is.”

 

 John smiled against the delicate skin of Roger's stomach, looking up at him through the smudge of his lashes. Roger wondered if John had been like this for any of the other men he’d been with. If they had ever shuddered when John planted soft kisses over his hips or if they just wanted him to get on with it. He shook those thoughts from his head, none of that mattered right now, not when his whole attention should be on John. He reached down to slip his hand down the back of John’s shirt to touch his heated skin as John opened his fly, feeling like he had fizzy bubbles in his veins.

 

 The nervous zing in the air was lightened by how hard John had to tug to get Roger’s trousers down his thighs. He huffed dramatically when they were low enough, smiling when Roger let out a snort of laughter.

 

 Roger trembled when John ran his rough fingertips very lightly up the outside of Roger’s thighs. He grabbed John’s shoulder when her slipped his fingers under the side’s of his underwear that was doing very little to hide how hard he was. John kissed Roger's stomach again as he pulled his underwear down, and Roger felt a blush race up his neck to his ears. It wasn’t like he’d never been sucked off before, or like John had never seen him hard, so he didn’t know why he was being like this.

 

 He watched John wet his lips, toes curling in his shoes when John licked his palm and gave Roger’s dick a few pumps. He flicked his hair back over his shoulder in such a diva move it would have made Roger laugh if John hadn’t leant in to run his lips from the base of Roger’s cock to the tip.

 

 He didn’t make a show of it like some people Roger had been with, no licking around he head or running his lips over the slit. John just dropped his eyes and raised up on to his knees as he took Roger into his mouth. After just a few bob’s of John’s head Roger found himself breathing fast, digging his nails into John’s shoulder when he slowly took nearly all of Roger’s cock into his mouth, held it there, and then pulled back to suck on the head again.

 

 Coherent sound left him as John’s tongue pressed against the underside of his dick every time he pulled back, swirling it around the head and then going back in again. All Roger could get out were disjointed noises between his panting until John opened his mouth and lowered his head on Roger’s dick until he choked. His throat working around the head of Roger’s cock felt _great_ , no doubt about that, but the sound of him choking didn’t. Not at all.

 

“Don’t,” he managed to get out, pushing at John’s shoulder to press the point home when John looked up at him.

 

 With a wet, filthy pop John pulled off his dick, keeping his hand moving over it as he swallowed a few times. His voice was rough when he whispered, “Okay,” and ran the flat of his tongue over the head of Roger’s cock before wrapping his lips back around him.

 

 Roger pushed John’s hair out of the way with a shaking hand, brushing his fingertips over his throat and only just stopping his hips from bucking up when he felt John swallow. John held Roger’s hips down, holding his cock in his mouth and moaning when Roger’s fingers tightened ever so slightly in his hair.

 

 The vibrations went right through Roger and he groaned loudly. He kept his hand in John’s hair and touched the base of his throat with the other, opening his legs wider when John slipped his hand between them.

 

 John pulled very gently on Roger’s balls which was great, and then his fingers moved further back. Roger wasn’t against being touched back there. He’d let John do it one day, but right now it was too soon and he wasn’t ready. He felt himself tense and was about tell him no when John pressed his knuckle into the spot behind his balls and Roger lost it.

 

 He ended up on his toes, rocking ever so gently into the rhythm of John sucking him off even as he warned him, “I’m gonna...I’m really gonna.” Roger’s whole body tensed, his breath catching in high little pants as he came in John’s mouth.

 

 When the first wave of orgasm abated he let go of John’s hair to stroke his fingers through it, shocks and shudders racing through him as John kept lazily sucking his dick. After the last, shaking tremor faded and Roger slumped against the door John tilted his head and pulled off of his cock.

 

 He pressed a few closed mouth misses to Roger’s hips before sitting back to smile up at him a little awkwardly. Roger thought it might be because his jaw was aching, but then John was looking around and pulling over one of the magazines Roger was in the process of throwing out. John unceremoniously spat his cum into it and Roger was too high to be anything but amused by that. “Hope that hit our review,” he said, sliding slowly down the door until is bare arse hit the floor.

 

 John waggled his eyebrows, going to perch his arse on the heels of his platforms but Roger reached out and dragged him half into his lap. “That was incredible. Jesus christ. J _esus christ_ Deaky.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don’t...Yeah? You know dam well I nearly pulled a muscle when I came. Bloody _hell_ , your _mouth_ ,” Roger ran his thumb over John’s soft, pink, wet bottom lip and went in for a kiss.

 

 John jerked back. “The taste. You might not…”

 

“Deaky. I would like nothing more than to taste myself in your mouth right about now,” Roger declared, and then licked straight into his mouth to do just that.

 

 John melted against him. His fingers curling into Rogers shirt as his knees tried to get enough purchase against the tiled floor to rock his hips against Rogers thigh.

 

 It was a little startling to feel just how hard he was just from sucking Roger's dick. Roger pushed his hand between them to press the heel of his hand against the achingly hard line of his cock and John reared back from the kiss, moaning a desperately.

 

 “Oh fuck,” Roger heard himself gasp, and then found himself pushing John down onto the floor. “I don't know how to do that,” Roger muttered as he batted John's hands out of way and worked his jeans open. “You were fantastic by the way. _Fuck_ …”

 

“Spit in your hand first,” John ordered and Roger did, shoving John's shirt up so he could kiss his stomach as he wrapped his hand around his dick.

 

 The hallway became full of John's soft, breathy moans as Roger jacked him off hard and fast, twisting his fist around the head of John's dick in the way he knew he liked. Roger sucked marks over this sharp hip bones, making new ones and having John cry out when he refreshed a few old ones. Then, out of curiosity more than anything, he mouthed at the head of John's dick.

 

 John gasped loudly, heels clunking against the floor as his hands dug into Roger's shoulders. He hauled him up his body and then held him at arm's length, rolling his hips and coming hard all over Roger's hand.

 

 “Whoo,” Roger huffed, slipping sideways to lay next to John on the hard, cold floor. He wiggled his trousers and underwear back over his arse and then tucked John away while he caught his breath.

 

 John turned to look at him and Roger felt an ache in his chest at just how beautiful he was. He pressed his head into John's hand when he reached out to cup Roger’s cheek and smooth his hair off his face, pressing kisses to the inside of his wrist.

 

“We sh…” John coughed to clear the roughness from his voice that, Roger realised with a liquid hot start, was because of his cock. “We should really try and make it to the bedroom more often.”

 

“Where's the fun in that.”

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Having appeared on Top of the Pops more than once ended up having its perks. Not only had it improved sales and exposure, but it also meant venue’s were nicer to them and actively stopped people trying to sneak backstage to try and fuck the band or steal stuff.

 

 Not that Roger minded meeting fans, but it was nice to not have to be on your guard before and after every show.

 

 Their new improved security meant that the guy John was currently talking to must be someone he knew. The conversation didn’t look to be all that private, and Roger didn’t recognise him, so he lit a cigarette and wandered over.

 

 “...over to Blackpool which you know is so much - oh!”, the man - who was as posh as Brian - smiled in surprise as his soft brown eyes landed on Roger. “You’re the drummer aren’t you. You were fabulous!”

 

“Thanks. Roger Taylor.”

 

“I know. John mentioned you before. I’m Ian.”

 

 John didn’t have many friends, it took a lot to get past his barriers, so Roger was surprised that he’d never met this bloke before. Or even heard of him. “Nice to meet you, mate. How d’ya know our Deaky?”

 

“Oh, well…” Ian glanced at John in a way Roger recognised and immediately didn’t like. “We used to bump into one other when we ran in the same circles.”

 

 Roger spent the rest of the short conversation thinking about how John had definitely got his bloke off before. He made himself speak a few times so he didn’t come off as rude or just another spaced out drummer, and he also - in what he thought was a very casual, low key move - slipped an arm around John’s waist.

 

 It didn’t go unnoticed by John, who shot him a look, or by Ian who made his goodbyes and congratulated them on their gig as he beat a tactful retreat.

 

“That was very mature,” John muttered.

 

 Roger was all nonchalance as he blew smoke towards the ceiling. “What?”

 

“If he hadn’t left would you have grabbed my arse so he really got the picture?”

 

“I put my arm around you. Can I not do that? As your _boyfriend_.”

 

 John narrowed his eyes at him and Roger took his arm away. “So was that you just being all macho and possessive or did you think I was going to be tempted off for a quickie?”

 

 Roger considered his cigarette and his words before taking drag. “Possessive,” he admitted. “He was all “ _bumped into one another_ ” making it fucking obvious you’d fucked.”

 

 John nodded as he stepped closer to Roger. “Would it be the same if he’d been a girl.”

 

“What?”

 

“Would it have been the same if it was a girl making it clear we’d slept together?”

 

“No,” Roger admitted, knowing he was only allowed to continue because he’d been instantly honest. “Because I’ve only had girlfriends before, and if you’d had it’d - I’d be fine ‘cause I knew where I stood. He was...that posh git was...” Roger puffed on his cigarette in annoyance, not wanting to admit that he was certain that guy had been a better shag than him simply because he knew what he was doing and Roger was still working it out. “We never met any of your blokes, so it was a surprise to see one I suppose.”

 

“You never met one because I never liked any enough to introduce them. You lot would eat them alive.”

 

 Roger shrugged, then nodded because they definitely would have sensed if John had any uncertainties about a man. It would have been like blood in the water and they would have gone for the poor guy. “I didn’t think you were going to go off and shag him, even if I do think he was trying to chat you up. I’m sorry.”

 

“Good,” John caught his eye and held it as he touched his fingers to Roger’s wrist. “I would have warned you if I knew anyone I _knew_ would be at a gig. And if you hadn’t come up to us I would have told you who he was and that we spoke. Okay?”

 

“I know you would.”

 

“Okay...you don’t have to worry about comparing yourself, you know,” John said quietly. “I’ve never been with anyone like I am with you. So there’s nothing to compare to.”

 

 Roger felt himself blush. He was flattered and proud all at once that he was the one John trusted and liked enough to be with, and also a little sad that John had never had that before him. He was wedged so firmly into Roger’s heart he couldn’t contemplate John not being treasured. “Okay."

 

“Okay,” John glanced around and leant in to speak quietly. “Don’t you make a habit of this! But you being possessive was, you know - a bit sexy. So...”

 

 Roger didn’t need telling twice. He grabbed John by the sleeve of his jacket to lead him through the roadies and tech’s and equipment cases to the almost nice ‘artists’ bathroom. He let John go in before him as he flicked his cigarette onto the floor, stamping it out as he checked no one was watching before darting in after him.

 

 The door closed with a click, the lock clunked, and then it rattled in it’s frame a something large got shoved against it.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“It can’t be the spanner, Blondie already suggested that the last time he was in the _Billiard Room_ of all things.”

 

“He said Professor Plum with the spanner, I’m saying Mr.White.”

 

“Yes but…”

 

“Now you’ve given away that you have one of those cards.”

 

“ _I have not_ ,” Freddie blustered, “Roger! Tell him that’s not how Cluedo works!”

 

 Roger blinked at Freddie, then at the board, then at Brian. “That’s not how Cluedo works.”

 

“ _See!_ ”

 

“He’s not paying attention,” Brian groused.

 

“I am! I already said Proffie Plum with the spanner in...wherever.”

 

 Brian rolled his eyes as Freddie sighed. “Brian said Mr.White.”

 

“Oh...yeah that.”

 

“You’re not paying attention,” Brian said simply, turning to peer over his shoulder at John. He had his head pillowed on his bent arm, long body curled up to fit on Roger’s - on _their_  sagging sofa with Roger's fur coat draped over him. He had been up half of the night fixing a problem with one of the stage monitors (not because it was urgent, he just couldn’t leave something half done) and had passed out not long after they’d all come trooping back from lunch.

 

 The flat, or the _Rhythm Dungeon_ as Freddie had christened it, had felt a lot nicer since John had moved in. Even with his bloody Abba and Carpenters records elbowing out some of Roger’s, and all the boxes of circuit boards and wires shoved into the top of the wardrobe. Roger used to want to be out all the time, off at Freddie’s or out at the pub or doing something; now he invited friends around for board games and had nights in listening to the radio, just happy to be at home.

 

“He’s gone again,” Freddie declared as he threw his cards face down on the board. “Caught up in sleeping beauty over there.”

 

 Roger couldn’t argue with that. John’s mouth turned soft and lax in sleep, his lashes a faint shadow on his pale cheek, his hand hanging loosely over the edge of the sofa.

 

 Roger looked away to turn an unrepentant grin on the other two that made Freddie laugh.

 

“You soppy sod,” Brian muttered affectionately, being careful not to jostle John’s knee’s as he leant back and stretched.

 

“Yeah. Going soft in my old age,” he said just to make the Freddie and Brian, both older than him, splutter indignantly.

 

 Roger hopped up, tucking his cards into his back pocket as declared that he was going to make tea. “I can offer you some honey in yours Frederick?”

 

“Oh my!” Freddie shot Brian an impressed look. “Yes please, dear.”

 

 Roger adjusted his coat so it covered more of John, combing his fingers through his hair so it was pushed off his face and then arranged the collar so the fur wouldn’t tickle his neck.

 

“I’m really glad Chrissie isn’t here to watch you show me up.”

 

“Oh Bri. Mary never does anything like that for me.”

 

 Roger stepped around the sofa, twirling mid step to call them both pricks as he made his way to the kitchen.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Legs were Roger’s thing. Long, shapely legs leading to a nice pert arse that was attached to a pretty girl. And he liked what was between them well enough too.

 

 Not to just stick his dick in, of course. He didn’t used to get as many girls as he did without having a few tricks up his sleeve. That didn’t matter now, of course. What with John being a bloke and all. Roger was smart and inventive though, and John knew what he was doing, so he had shifted most of his tricks around until they worked on men. Well, this man.

 

 They were wrapped up in one another in bed, half naked and hard just from kissing and touching. Roger had been running his hand down John’s thigh and back up again, rocking their hips together when he smoothed his fingers around his waist to touch the small of his back and pull John against him.

 

 John broke away from the kiss to catch his breath, kissing over Rogers face as he pushed his hair out of the way before sliding their mouths back together.

 

 Roger slipped his fingers past the elastic of John’s knickers to grab him bum, kneading it in his palm when John gasped against his lips. This was when they’d usually shove their underwear down, someone would grab both their cocks, and they’d rock against one another until they came. Today though, Roger’s hand found it way to the crease of John’s arse and he slipped his fingers between his cheeks without thinking.

 

 John jerked back with a not good kind of gasp and Roger snatched his hands away. “Sorry. Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” John said, laying his hand on Roger’s arm.

 

“I should have asked. That’s…”

 

“No it’s - I’ve. I don’t usually let...I’ve never done that before. You see.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Roger breathed, and then said another more confident, “Oh,” that he hope didn’t sound quite so surprised. It wasn’t that he thought John had been off getting, well _buggered_ for want of a better term, every time Roger had seen him with a man. He was so stuck on how beautiful John was that he’d assumed… “That’s fine. I'm not expecting anything I was just...I haven’t thought about me either? Taking it, that is. So I…”

 

“I haven’t done that either,” John admitted, voice small and quiet, and Roger could have kicked himself. He was still so young and cautious and here was Roger laying bare all his inexperience with his assumptions.

 

 “My hand wandered, Deaks. That’s all. I’ll check first next time. It’s all fine. Don't….it's all fine.”

 

 John nodded, running his hand up Roger’s arm to his shoulder and then down to his chest. “We could...if you want you could…” John opened his legs and ran his hand over the delicate skin of his inner thigh. “You could do me here.” He clamped his legs closed around his fingers to illustrate his point and Roger felt his dick twitch in interest.

 

“Yeah? Yes. You want to?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then yes. Let’s do that.”

 

 Roger kicked the rest of his clothes off and went to search through the bedside table for some Vaseline. John had lost his underwear and rolled onto his side when Roger turned back to him so he pressed right up against his back, cock slipping against the curve of his arse.

 

 Roger gently pushed John's hair out of the way, kissing the top of his spine as he ran his hand from John’s throat all the way down to his dick. He gave it a few tugs, setting his teeth to John’s shoulder when he rocked back against his dick, slipping his hand between John's legs to squeeze his inner thigh when he moaned.

 

“Can’t get enough of you,” Roger whispered against his neck, slipping his arm under John’s head to pass himself the tin of Vaseline.

 

 John turned to look at him, reaching back to touch Roger's face. “I love you,” he murmured against Roger’s lips.

 

“I love you too. Now,” Roger said as he popped the Vaseline open. “Let's get down to business.”

 

 John’s gentle laughter made Roger grin against his flushed neck as he scooped up some Vaseline and shoved his hand back between John's thighs.

 

“Okay,” John breathed, opening his legs so Roger’s dick could slip between them, and then squeezed his knee’s together.

 

 Roger moaned, pressing his face into John's hair as he took a moment to control himself. Breathing in the scent of John’s shampoo and clean sweat wasn’t the way to go to try and calm himself down but he found he didn’t much care, giving a few short, testing thrusts of his hips as he wrapped his still slick hand around John’s cock.

 

 John shifted at Roger’s touch, tilting his hips back into him and his thighs accidentally slipped against one another. Roger gasped sharply at the feeling of soft skin sliding against his cock, the way smoothed by the Vaseline.

 

“Sorry. Sorry. Are…”

 

“Do it again,” Roger gasped, moaning right into John’s ear when he cautiously rubbed his thighs together. “ _Fuck_.”

 

 He eventually stilled John’s thighs my pressed his arm against his hips, idly rubbing his thumb over the head of John’s dick as he kissed down the faintly sweaty skin of his neck. John sighed, running his hand along Roger’s arm his head was lent on to curl his fingers around his wrist.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yes.”

 

 Roger started to jack him off slowly, increasing the pace until John’s hips jerked into his hand. That was when Roger started to fuck his thighs, having no problem matching the rhythm of his thrusts to that of his hand, he was a drummer after all. Soon he had the creak of the bed and his own soft, breathy grunts timed to match John's gentle little _“ah’s_ ” until the little bedroom was full of the sound of sex.

 

 John, who was so responsive, and sometimes down right needy, let out a full body shudder when Roger changed the angle of his hips so the head of his dick brushed the smooth skin behind his balls. He reached back to grab Roger's hip and drag him closer against him, brushing his lips against the inside of Rogers elbow when he tried to push back into his thrusts. His moans got louder, more desperate, as if this felt good. Of course Roger jacking him off felt good, he’d made a point to get very good at that as soon as he could. But the way John started to rock against him made it seem like Roger thrusting between his strong, warm, slick thighs was doing as much for him as it was for Roger.

 

 Heat tingled along his spine at the thought of that, as it always did when he was making someone feel good. Nothing was sexier than someone who was on the brink of losing all control because of him, and especially when it was John.

 

 John dug his fingers into Roger’s hip and moaned, trying to writhe and buck but he couldn’t. His hair was starting to stick to his neck with the sweat that was gathering between them, a dark flush running all over his skin. Roger pressed his face into his neck, nosing hair out of the way so he could suck a mark just under his ear.

 

 The cry John let out was loud enough that the landlady in the flat above would definitely have heard. Roger pulled away, too caught up in John to feel proud of that right now, and began to twist his fist over the head of John's cock. He whimpered and squirmed, muffling his sounds by biting gently at Roger’s arm, the sharpness of a teeth adding a spark to Roger's already desperate arousal.

 

 John came with a whole body shudder, breath warm and a little frantic against the inside of Roger’s arm as he twitched through it. Roger slowed his thrusts, propping himself up to get a look at John’s face but all he could see was the flushed line of his cheekbone and the flutter of his lashes.

 

 Before he could ask if John was okay the hand on his hips tensed again, guiding Roger’s hips to keep going. Which Roger did, maybe losing a bit of finesse now he could grab John’s waist to get more purchase, letting himself get lost in the intimacy and the sensation of John’s lithe body pushing back against his.

 

 John twisted to search out his mouth and Roger moved so he could kiss him, dirty and deep, groaning into his mouth as he shot his load between John’s thighs. His cum only made everything more slick and he couldn’t stop his lazy thrusting if he tried, it just all felt so good. He smoothed the hand on his hip up John’s chest to hold him tightly, kissing idly over whatever part of him he could reach.

 

 John peered over his shoulder at him when Roger’s dick slipped unceremoniously from between his thighs. Roger felt like he should apologise but John had such a sweet smile on his face, even though he was covered in cum and sweat, that it totally slipped Roger’s mind and was replaced with a burning urge to kiss every single inch of him. And Roger had a habit of giving in to his impulses.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger leapt up as soon as the house lights came on, drumming his fingers against the air as he shifted in place to the beat of the music playing over the titles.

 

 John stood at a more normal pace, leading the way out of the isle to join the crowd filing down the steps to leave the theatre. Roger used the crowd and the dim lighting to press a guiding hand to John’s lower back as they made their way out of the cinema, taking his hand back when they stepped into the bright lights of the porch.

 

“So. Dark Star?”

 

“Well,” Roger started as he swung his coat on. “You know I went in unsure because Space Odyssey is such a bloody...behemoth of a film,” he dug out his cigarettes and lit one. “S’art, you know.”

 

“Yeah,” John agreed as they started walking.

 

“But you know what. For all it being low budget and that, it felt more...real you know. Realistic. No space ship with a bunch of blokes in it for decades or whatever will be pristine. Just look at our bus after a week on the road,” their hands bumped together and Roger shot a smile at John. “And shit would go wrong and people would go a bit crazy with the isolation I imagine. And just from being stuck with only these people forever.”

 

“The bomb was definitely Hal, but I still liked it.”

 

“Oh yeah! That was great, a good parody is always uh...always comes from a place of fondness about what it’s parody-ing, ya know.” Roger continued his rambling review of the movie as they walked in the direction of home, John interjecting every so often or laughing at what Roger was saying.

 

 He had moved on to complaining about the salty popcorn that had got into his bag of sweet when their hands bumped again. John, after a bit of fumbling, managed to grab Roger’s hand and lace their fingers together.

 

 Roger stopped mid rant to shoot John a look. He was still looking ahead as if nothing had happened, but Roger could just spot the shadow of a blush on his face under the streetlights. He puffed on his cigarette, smiling at John who only blushed harder when Roger squeezed his hand.

 

 They had to wait for the green man in a small crowd of people at the crossing. Instead of letting go of one another Roger sidestepped into John as if to leave more room for the woman next to him and hid their hands in the bulk of his fur coat. John shot him a smile this time, tapping Roger very lightly on the cheek with the stubs of their cinema tickets instead of giving him a kiss.

 

“Anyway...” Roger started and then couldn’t think of anything to say. He shifted even closer to John, feeling like he was about to blow up like a balloon and float away on the swell of love going through him.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Freddie was on the hunt for stage outfits so had recruited everyone to trawl through their old stomping ground of Kensington Market to look for things. Clothing and fashion was something that had always interested Roger, but only when it was for himself. He had a personal sense of style and didn’t give much of a shit for what was on trend; if it suited you and you liked it then it was stylish as far as Roger was concerned.

 

 This opinion butted up against everyone else in the band because the only thing they had ever agreed on was that they were friends and that they made good music. Roger got fed up of the three of them, plus Chrissie, bickering over what looked good and what they absolutely would not wear (John) after about half an hour and went for a wander around.

 

 He chatted to some of the stall holder’s he remembered from when he and Freddie worked here, dodged tourists, and recoiled from some of the prices on the clothes on the rails. He found his attention caught by an antique (second hand) jewellery stall, smiling at the lady doing the crossword behind the table as he ran his fingers over the rolls of rings.

 

 Roger was more of a necklace man himself. They added a bit of class when he wore open shirts and shrugs on stage or for photo shoots, and helped show off his chest that drumming kept toned. John was the ring man. Well, he wore one on his strumming hand that Roger liked to roll between his fingers when they held hands. It was only special because he’d had it so long, and as much as John wore it for style it did help draw attention to the precision of his fingering.

 

 That thought made Roger swallow down a snort of amusement, and he picked up a ring to try and cover it.

 

“Are you looking for your girlfriend?” the stall owner asked, setting down her paper.

 

“Something like that,” Roger smiled, putting it down and picking another one up.

 

 He ended up holding a silver ring with an inset of black enamel, simple yet showy in an understated way. It made him think of John, and Roger found that he’d paid for it before he’d even realised what he was doing.

 

 After mooching around the market for another half an hour he finally found everyone again. You couldn't miss them, taking up all the chairs and tables outside the the little booth that sold tea and cakes.

 

 Mary had appeared along with a bag of clothes Roger suspected had not been acquired through official Biba means. Brian was holding something stretchy up to Freddie while John carefully rifled through the clothes, Mary and Chrissie looking on as they sipped tea out of polystyrene cups.

 

“You've been gone a while, Roge,” Chrissie greeted when she saw him. “Meet anyone important?”

 

“I was _shopping_ for my _boyfriend_ ,” Roger said airily as he patted himself down for the ring he’d shoved into a pocket.

 

“It’ll either be a box of old electrical bits, or something risque,” Freddie declared just as Roger dug the ring out of his breast pocket to present to John.

 

 It was only when Chrissie gasped and Mary almost choked on her tea that Roger finally realised what getting a ring for your other half might look like. What it usually meant. But that was if you gave it to a girl, and John wasn't a girl. So it was just a present. Right?

 

 He glanced over at Brian whose face was in the process of turning from gaping shock to almost childlike excitement. Then Roger looked at Freddie who was staring at the ring like it was about to catch fire, dropping the silk scarf he had been holding as his eyes slipped over to John who was glancing between Rogers face and the ring in rapid succession.

 

 Roger had done some stupid things in his time. Yet somehow - even though he had accidentally just sort of proposed to a man he was never going to be able to marry - this didn't feel like one of them.

 

“You don't mean it like everyone's thinking you meant it, do you?” John, ever sharp, asked with only a slight strangled note of shock in his voice.

 

“No. I got it because I...could? Saw it and thought of you? But,” Roger started just as Brian made a disappointed noise. “I don't...I didn't mean it. Because...because it’s not something we’ll be able to do? But I don't mind meaning it. You know?”

 

 Freddie sighed at Roger's eloquence but John just giggled, jerking to his feet so he could stand in front of Roger. “I understand. I think.”

 

 John held out his hand and Roger plopped the ring into it. He considered his fingers a moment, then the ring (snatching it away when Freddie tried to get a peak) before slipping it onto the little finger of his left hand.

 

 A mini whirlwind of chaos followed John allowing Chrissie to take his hand so she could look at it, everyone acting like Roger had just popped a six carat diamond ring onto John’s hand. His gaze slipped over to John as Freddie started to loudly organise a party, smiling when he found John already looking at him.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“It’s great. It’s perfect. Thank you.” John looked around to see if anyone was paying them any attention what with the noise the others were making, and then darted in to press his lips to Roger’s cheek. “I put it on my strumming hand so people will see it when I play.”

 

 It took a great deal of will power, and the fact he wanted to stay glued to John for the rest of the day, to stop Roger taking off on a lap of the market so much happy, excited, nervous, _ridiculous_ energy was running through him. Instead he rocked up onto his toes, bouncing a little before settling back down onto his heels.

 

 “Good,” he grinned at John who, although still obviously a little taken aback, was smiling at him. No, not smiling, beaming. Beaming his big, gap-toothed smile that made his eyes crinkle. And for once he wasn’t trying to hide it. “ _Good_.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In no way do I think Bay City Roller's fans or the band are homophobic, I just liked the way "Bay City Rollers looking blokes' sounded.
> 
> [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJzd3aPJX5o) is the second Seven Sea's of Rhye TOTP performance where John dissociates the whole time. 
> 
> And [ here ](https://quiet-deacy.tumblr.com/post/181379607556/okeery-john-deacon-taken-from-queen-in-3d-by) is a picture of John's rings that totally didn't take me forever to find a clear picture of.


End file.
